


A Good Time is Free

by cocoabunny



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (gone wrong), And broken, Assassination Attempt(s), BONDING OVER ILLEGAL ACTIVITIES WHOOPS, Flirting, Fluff, I promise, Locked In, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Swearing, Theft, it's cute, like...a lot of shit gets stolen, they're goons but desperately into each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-19 03:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19967332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cocoabunny/pseuds/cocoabunny
Summary: McCree and Hanzo are sent on an undercover mission to assassinate a bad, bad dude—except they mess up and get trapped in a mall overnight. How did two professional ex-assassins manage to get locked in, and how are they going to cope without murdering (or passionately kissing) each other?!





	A Good Time is Free

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this came about because @CrocoScribbles wanted a mchanzo fic where they got locked in a mall and had to survive the night while trying not to kill each other... and they were gonna COMMISSION IT which i could not stand for. i haven't written a completed fic for literally anything in 3 YEARS so please don't say anything too mean lmfao. un-beta'd because i DON'T HAVE THE TIME and also maybe not accurate?? at all? I'm welsh so idfk what american malls are supposed to be like pfffbt
> 
> hope you enjoy reading!! also @Croc if you want that epilogue, just ask -eyes emoji-

Hanzo thinks this might be his worst failure since therapy.

The brief was simple—tail a mark to his place of work and discreetly neutralise, then wait for EVAC. The man is an assassin: mid-40s, greying, and working undercover as a security guard at a run-down mall. His target, on this occasion, is a diplomat whose hotel sits just across the strip.

The diplomat is fine. Spooked, and a little furious, but alive, which Hanzo considers a miracle.

The mark is… also alive, which is unfortunate, but not truly disastrous.

No, _disastrous_ comes after hours of following the man all day, being jostled by tourists and other mindless shoppers, only for him to realise he's been tracked and slip out through a maintenance hallway just as the mall is closing. This is truly the moment Hanzo's day turns to shit.

He's locked in—confined to the maintenance hall and two floors of the mall—with nothing but standard-issue equipment and a sketchy comm.

Oh. And Jesse McCree.

"Bitch of a situation, huh?" the man offers, eyeing the semi-lit walkways and shuttered stores. "Just as well this place can't afford nightguards."

"This is _ridiculous_ ," Hanzo hisses, jabbing at air. "He was _here_ , we were right behind him—how could he have made it through without trapping himself, as we have?"

"Give the man some credit—he's a trained professional."

" _We're_ trained professionals!"

"Come on, Hanzo," McCree waves a hand, "it ain't so bad. We got his ID—just a matter of time before somebody at HQ gets a read on where he came from, who's fundin' him."

He's about to reply when they both get a chime from their comms.

"Agents McCree, Shimada?" Winston sounds bemused. "Our intel says the mall closed twenty minutes ago, and you haven't sent any updates. Where… are you?"

"Funniest thing, bud—"

"There is _nothing_ funny about our current situation."

Hanzo has the pleasure of watching McCree roll his eyes before clearing his throat. "The thing is, Winston ol' pal… we're sorta… locked in."

The brief silence that follows fills Hanzo's guts with cold embarrassment. When McCree meets his eyes, he glares back.

"I… am I understanding this right? You—you got locked in with the target?"

"Ah, not quite. More along the lines of… he got away. And we're stuck."

"The diplomat is safe," Hanzo snaps, unwilling to admit defeat entirely. "Agent Oxton confirmed extraction just before—"

"Before you got trapped."

He grits his teeth, ignoring McCree's snort. " _Yes_. Before that. When can we expect you to retrieve us?"

"W-well, that might be a little difficult. I managed to hack into the security system so the cameras are looped, but—"

"So we cannot be seen, and there are no guards. What is the problem?"

There's an awkward shuffling of papers to which McCree rolls his eyes again. Hanzo ignores him, frowning into the comm. "Winston, what is it?"

"Look, we're still pretty newly-reformed and can't risk any publicity—the kind that involves you breaking your way out of a locked mall and boarding a dropship. I'll contact Lena, schedule a pickup from opening time tomorrow—"

"In twelve _hours_?"

"I'm sorry, agent Shimada, but it's really the best I can do!"

He feels bitter rage prickle up his spine and it must show on his face, because the next thing he hears is "that'll do fine, big guy—see you tomorrow morning," before the comm crackles off.

Twelve hours. Locked in a mall for twelve hours for failing to kill a man.

Genji would be ecstatic.

"Hanzo, come on." McCree saunters into his vision, giving him a look. "There ain't anything we can do to change how things went. Might as well make the best of a bad thing."

"And what," he says through still-gritted teeth, "would be 'making the best' of this? We allowed a killer to escape—"

"And we're gonna Goddamn catch him, okay?" McCree huffs. "You don't expect me to believe this is the first time you missed your mark?"

It isn't, and that inspires another wave of guilt, thorny in his chest, but he shakes his head anyway. "Not—not in a way as _humiliating_ as this. Not when I've been trying so hard to—to _prove_ something—"

"We still won, Hanzo." McCree shrugs. "We saved a man's life, today. We'll get that other asshole another time."

He doesn't feel better, but knows that it's pointless to argue themselves in circles, so relents. They have more urgent matters to consider, anyway—food, sleeping arrangements, how to reach EVAC tomorrow without being seen—

"I want a milkshake. You comin'?"

His head whips up to see McCree jerking a thumb towards the food court. The man has a mischievous glint in his eye.

He gives him a baffled look. "You… cannot be serious."

"Sure I am," the gunslinger drawls, already walking away. "You never had a fantasy like this as a kid? Whole mall to yourself t'run around in? Do as you please?"

"I do as I please regardless," he shoots back, finding himself following. "But clearly this is a dream come true for you."

McCree laughs, hunkering down to fiddle with the gate of a milkshake kiosk. "Guess comin' from nothing gives you some pretty silly ideas. I always thought that if I was ever alone in a place like this, I'd find a toy store and get myself the biggest NERF gun I could find." The lock clicks, and he grunts. "'Course, got to shootin' the real thing a few years later… so it didn't matter much."

He lets the idea of that settle somewhere he can't consider at the moment, crossing his arms as the man leaps over the counter. "So instead, you will steal milkshake."

McCree pops up with two bottles of chilled chocolate shake, grinning. "I won't tell if you don't, Shimada."

He tries—and fails—to keep a small smirk from his face. "Truly criminal."

~*~

Several hours later, Hanzo has changed his mind.

It becomes too easy to let McCree lead him around, knowing that they won't be seen and swept up as he is by the man's enthusiasm. At first they hit smaller stores—boutiques and stalls similar to the milkshake kiosk—but once McCree spots a big, illuminated LIQUOR sign, anything is fair game.

He interrupts his own looting for just a moment to check on their equipment—stowed away in the maintenance hall for now—before making his way back down to where the other man was last raiding a Telford for cigars.

Halfway down one of the motionless escalators the pastel tones of the French-themed patisserie catch his eye again, and he steers his gaze away with limited success. _That_ would be too far—an unnecessary indulgence when they still hadn't arranged a hiding place or even a location for pickup. Winston had contacted them just once more to confirm Lena's arrival tomorrow, but since then they'd agreed radio silence. Hanzo imagines it is because impatience—specifically _his_ —translates quite clearly over the comm.

It disappears as soon as he sees McCree emerging from a leatherware store in a brand new jacket—not quite the same russet brown as his hair, but close enough that he must have spent a while picking it out. The man adjusts his Ray-Bans—pilfered from a sports store across the hall—and flashes a smile.

"Hey there, stranger. How do I look?"

"Like a pornstar," Hanzo quips, relishing the brief look of shock he gets before McCree rights himself. "The jacket suits you."

"Well, now." The gunslinger fidgets, his cheeks only a little pink. "Guess I'm keepin' this one, too."

"…you have more."

"I wasn't gonna take just one, Hanzo! They've got my size!"

Hanzo shakes his head, tugging at the man's sleeve. "Come and help me break into the sushi restaurant upstairs."

McCree does: not by picking the lock but by wrenching the shutter up and open with his mechanical arm—something Hanzo tries not to find appealing and, infuriatingly, does.

"Can't you just use it to get us out of here?" he says after inhaling his fourth nigiri roll. He chases it down with a sip of beer just as McCree winks.

"Just followin' orders, sweetheart."

Hanzo purposefully does not find the wink—or the man—charming.

It's later, when they're taking pot-shots at mannequins, that he realises he has no choice in the matter, really.

"One of my first jobs was undercover, y'know."

"Oh?" He plucks a dart from the mannequin's cheek, twirls it between his fingers. "Go on."

"London, 'bout thirteen or fourteen years ago." McCree takes a large gulp from one of the nicer whiskeys he's stolen, setting it down by his feet and levelling his new NERF pistol—not entirely unlike his own—at their unfortunate victim. Easing into a stance, he shuts his eyes, expression soft. "I was a barber for a little while, at this high-end place near Kensington. Now, obviously, I ain't the type that fits in with those… fancier folk. Stuck out like a sore thumb, even with my flawless English accent."

Hanzo can't help it—he guffaws.

McCree grins with his eyes closed. "Yeah, exactly. Lookin' back, maybe that's why my cover got blown so easy—but in the end it didn't matter. My mark was already sat in the chair, had the towel around his neck and everything."

"What happened?"

The gunslinger peeks an eye open, liquid amber. His voice is smooth. "Slit his throat with the straight razor."

Fire floods Hanzo's veins and he shudders a breath.

"Too bad for him."

"Mm." McCree fires, a headshot. "Too damn bad."

Hanzo doesn't mind that he loses.

~*~

They pool their stolen goods with the rest of their belongings, wondering aloud how best to smuggle them past Lena.

"Could always say it was part of our cover," McCree suggests, gesturing to himself. "Brief said we had to blend in as tourists, so we picked up a couple 'souvenirs' along the way."

"Even if she were to believe us—" Hanzo chuffs, setting his bow aside from the mess, "—this has taken us hours. Do you believe our colleagues would think very highly of us if they thought we'd spent most of our day _shopping_?"

"Would explain how we let him escape in the first pla—OW! Damn it, Hanzo!"

"Shut up." He scowls. "We didn't let him do anything. He—slipped away. Next time, he won't be so fortunate."

McCree swaps his hat for a recently-acquired Stetson, black, and whistles. "Love it when you threaten violence, sugar."

"Cease, or I will inflict more on you."

"Mm, yeah, I hear ya."

Their spoils are packed into several duffel bags—also stolen—before McCree decides they deserve one last treat.

"Saw you lookin' at that fancy little cake shop more than once," he teases as they descend a floor. "See something in there you like?"

"Don't be stupid." Hanzo is sure his face is red. "Sweets are for children."

"So's breakin' into a kiosk for chocolate shake. You want ice-cream?"

It isn't ice-cream he wants when they arrive, but another favourite of his—a strawberry cream cake, perched elegantly beneath a glass cloche.

" _One_ slice," he warns as McCree sets it down at their booth, all plush green velvet and macaron-shaped cushions. He overlooks the man's knowing smile.

They each cut a piece, his far larger than McCree's, who loves strawberries but not cream, absurdly. Not wanting to create any more mess than they already have, they share a fork—which isn't a problem until he finds the gunslinger staring at him while he licks away the last crumbs.

His brow arches. "Something on my face, agent McCree?"

The man blinks and coughs into a fist, his cheeks rosy. "Nothin' at all. Just… glad you're enjoying it."

The nape of his neck tingles with something barely there, the ghost of a feeling. He lets his eyes wander briefly over McCree's jaw, the slight bob of his Adam's apple, then back up again. Liquid amber.

"I think," he says slowly, "that we should rest for the night."

On their way out, he feels the man's eyes on his back.

A short walk brings them back to where they began at the start of the evening, and the ensuing mess. Couch cushions are scattered about—the couch itself missing—as well as several storefront displays. There are NERF darts stuck to the mannequins not toppled over, dented shutters, empty beer bottles… to the average person, the damage could have been done by a pair of unruly teenagers.

Hanzo winds his way through the—fairly tame—debris and into a furniture store, McCree right behind him. At the first display bed he comes across, he starts yanking away the covers and piling it into the other man's arms.

McCree bobs his eyebrows. "You askin' me something here, Hanzo?"

"Just carry them to the maintenance hallway," he says with an eyeroll, collecting more bedsheets and a couple of pillows. "You can use that wit to tell Winston we've managed to survive this far."

"You got it, boss."

Neither are bothered about cleaning up the mess. Hanzo is beyond the point of feeling guilty about it, can't bring himself to entirely regret the situation, either. Securing the doors to the maintenance hallway with a bike lock McCree 'found', he allows himself to entertain the idea that, maybe… being trapped in an empty mall with Jesse McCree hasn't been such a terrible experience after all.

They assemble a makeshift bed and bunk down as best they can, comms at the ready for morning. In the near-dark, McCree looks at him over a pillow and snickers.

"…what?"

"Ah, 's nothing. Just… hell of a night with you, is all. Good to get outta that headspace you were in, I reckon."

Hanzo shuffles just close enough that he can make out the man's face, returning a faint smile. "As much as it pains me to admit it… yes. Thank you, Jesse."

He feels his heart might burst with the beaming grin McCree gives him so he rolls over, yawning to fill the momentary—dangerous—silence. McCree inches closer again, a pleasing warmth near his back.

"So… Han. About that sweet tooth of yours—"

"Not a word. Ever. To anyone."

"Okay, okay… I gotcha, sweetheart."


End file.
